


The Misunderstanding

by DracoIgnis, Dragon_and_Direwolf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Humor, Making Up, Misunderstandings, Modeling, Photo Shoots, Photography, Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26881573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf
Summary: Jon and Daenerys are models who haven't spoken for a year since their break-up. Once reunited on the set of a photo shoot, old arguments start to resurface - as well as old emotions.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 68
Kudos: 411





	The Misunderstanding

As Jon enters the studio and spots Daenerys, he can’t help but mutter: “For fuck’s sake.”

Daenerys is beautiful - _of course_ she is - and she carries herself with the airy sense of self-awareness just models can get away with; a friendly smile, but distant eyes. Only the right kind of people can get to know her. Even before she meets his gaze, Jon knows he’s not part of that group. Not anymore. Even so, he allows himself to admire her from afar: her silver hair is long and curled, her ass is barely contained in a navy lace dress, her legs look gorgeous in a pair of black heels. He hates her. He wants to fuck her.

“Darling!” A man approaches Jon. He is dressed in tight leather trousers and a white tee. The v-neck is so low it almost cuts the fabric in half. Oberyn Martell - the perfect gigolo, the perfect photographer. The aftershave on his neck costs more than a property in London. Jon tries not to inhale as he hugs him. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

“I won’t be on the same shoot as her, will I?” Jon asks, nodding toward Daenerys.

Oberyn looks in her direction. “Why, yes! You’re very lucky, Jon - Miss Targaryen’s schedule is so _busy._ I almost couldn’t book her!”

_Unlike me,_ Jon thinks, and, as if on cue, Oberyn playfully slaps his chest and grins:

“Unlike you! Free as a bird these days, eh?”

“Something like that,” Jon mumbles. He tries to force a smile. He ends up frowning. “I wish you would’ve told me in advance. You know how things went down between us.”

“I do,” Oberyn says casually and shrugs, “that’s why I didn’t say. You wouldn’t have come.”

“With reason,” Jon breathes through gritted teeth. Daenerys has noticed them talking. She is standing off to the side, just by the softbox, and she has placed herself so that the light hits her perfectly. Jon can’t help but stare at the way her smooth, pale skin glows. The faintest hint of a tan-line is visible on her shoulders. He wonders where she’s been. He wonders _how_ she’s been. The look on her face gives nothing away - dull, impartial. It’s like he doesn’t matter. “What’s this for, anyway?”

“A new magazine,” someone replies. Ellaria - skinny, elegant, smug. She slips up behind Oberyn, leaning onto his shoulder as she sends Jon a challenging look. “Good to see you again, Jon.”

“You too,” Jon says curtly. He’s learned to be wary around Oberyn’s lover - if he’s not careful, he’ll wake up naked halfway across the world. _It wouldn’t be the first time,_ he reminds himself.

“I’ve started a new business,” Ellaria explains, her fingers playing with Oberyn’s black hair as she speaks, “I write about sex. It’s all very romantic.”

“She helps men get laid,” Oberyn interjects.

Ellaria shushes him, but she smiles. “People don’t want to just read. They want to _see._ If I hope to expand my business, I must get something better than stock photos.”

“That’s why we need you,” Oberyn says. He grabs Jon’s arm as he speaks, urging him to follow as he walks toward Daenerys. Jon only slowly lets himself be dragged along. “We need _excitement,_ we need _passion._ There’s no one else for the job.”

As Jon stops in front of Daenerys, he can’t help but think _anyone_ else would be better for the brief. It’s not just that he’d rather throw himself into a cage of lions than have to speak to her again. It’s that she watches him with such emotionless eyes that he might as well not exist. He feels about as interesting as a wall. “Hey,” he mumbles. He’s not sure whether to wave at her or offer his hand. He ends up just awkwardly jerking his fingers at his side.

Daenerys doesn’t even blink. “Hey,” she replies.

Jon tries to come up with something to say. He could shout at her, or kiss her, or call her names, or sink his head between her thighs. He is angry and horny. He clenches his hands into fists and stares down at the floor. After a pause, he says: “Nice shoes.”

“Thanks,” Daenerys replies.

“Are they new?”

“They’re Ellaria’s.”

“Didn’t know she’s a size four.”

“She is.”

“Okay.” Jon goes quiet, and Daenerys doesn’t offer anything else.

Oberyn looks between them and claps his hands together. “Passion,” he urges, seemingly indifferent to the awkwardness that’s growing in the room. “Look, guys, this is meant to be a _dating_ story. We’ll start with a few casual shoots - a bit of laughing, smiling, holding hands. Just have fun!”

“You should be good at this,” Daenerys says as Oberyn trudges off to get his camera. She pushes a lock of silver hair behind her ear and sends him a pointed look.

Jon furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“Having fun. Bit of laughing, bit of smiling, bit of _fucking_ \- that’s how your day normally goes, isn’t it?” she asks.

Jon gawks at her. “Are you serious?” he asks. He suddenly feels very hot in his suit, and it seems to spread to his cheeks. He can feel them glowing from anger. “It’s been a year, and _that_ is how you want to start talking?”

“No, I wanted to start talking twelve months ago - but you weren’t _ready.”_

“Now, that is some bullsh-”

“Fun!” Oberyn shouts. His camera flashes in the same.

Jon is caught off-guard - he finds himself grimacing at the light, his face scrunched up in confusion. Daenerys, meanwhile, seems to step straight into a different persona; she flings her head back, her hair fluttering around her shoulders as she sends Jon a bright, charmed smile. She looks like she’s in love with him - if just for a second. The moment Oberyn steps to the side to check the photo, her eyes narrow.

“That is _not_ bullshit,” she insists. Her voice is so low that only Jon can hear it. As he rubs the stars from his eyes, she continues: “I called and called, but all I got was silence.”

“Maybe you called the wrong number.”

“Oh, that’s really _mature.”_

“So is hanging with the ex.”

Daenerys glares at him in surprise, but before she can say anything else, Oberyn starts snapping photos again. The flashes reflect in her shocked eyes. Jon almost feels smug.

This time, he is prepared; he grabs Daenerys’ hand and pretends to be walking alongside her, smiling, winking, silently flirting with her. The way she looks back at him is almost real - with admiration and a bright smile and a blush on her cheek.

But she holds his hand a bit too tight, and Jon knows the colour is caused by strain. She is doing everything she can not to push him away. _Professional at heart,_ Jon thinks bitterly.

“Nice one!” Oberyn calls and lowers the camera.

Daenerys’ hand snaps free of Jon’s in the same. “Don’t talk to me about exes,” she says. Her tone of voice is warning. It makes his heart beat quicker - finally she’s showing emotion. Even if it’s just anger. “You’re the one who went back to Ygritte!”

“I didn’t go back to her,” Jon protests. He senses he should show some sort of disgust as well, so he starts rubbing his hand as if to get her scent off. Roses. It fills his nostrils and makes him lust for more. He imagines running his tongue up her neck. He wonders if her lips still taste the same. “She came to me.”

“Oh!” Daenerys holds up her hands in faked shock. She purses her lips and rolls back onto her heels. “Oh! Well, in _that_ case, I’m clearly overreacting!”

“You are!”

Oberyn clicks his tongue. When Jon glares toward him, he finds him standing with Ellaria by his laptop. They’re browsing the photos. He seems concerned. “They look angry,” he hears him saying. His voice is quiet, but in the otherwise empty studio it carries far.

“I think it’s the light,” Ellaria says. “It’s not positioned right.”

“The light is fine,” Oberyn says with irritation. “I know how to do my job.”

“Well, I’m the client, and I think you need a hand,” Ellaria huffs, and she walks over and starts moving the umbrella lights around.

Jon glances back at Daenerys. She’s heard them too, and her face is flushed with embarrassment. “Look at that,” he says, “we’ve made _them_ argue now.”

Daenerys is about to laugh - he can see it in the way her nose crinkles and lashes flutter - but she thinks better of it. She sucks on her lower lip and puts on a face of defiance. “I want to finish and never deal with you again,” she says. “Can we just do our job?”

“I don’t know,” Jon replies, “can you?”

Daenerys’ face darkens. “I could be in L.A. doing shoots right now,” she says, and Jon is annoyed to know that she’s speaking the truth. He’s spent too many nights stalking her Instagram. Not like he’s had much else to do - no jobs, no motivation. His bank account has almost dried up. Daenerys continues: “Instead, I’m in this dingy Soho studio with you. So tell me, Jon - what gig did _you_ turn down to be here?”

Jon’s nostrils flare. His hands turn to fists.

Ellaria grabs his shoulders from behind. “Let’s try without the jacket,” she chirps and pulls the suit jacket off him. “It’s more _young.”_ She cocks her head and stalks around Jon once, looking him up and down. “Were there two suits in the changing room?”

“There’s a brown one,” Jon says. He’s not looking away from Daenerys, still staring into her smug, violet eyes.

“Maybe we should try that one.”

“It doesn’t fit. Too small around the arms.”

“Oh! Did you gain weight?” she asks.

Jon flushes. He finally drags his eyes away from Daenerys before he can see her reaction. He glares at Ellaria. “I gained _muscle,”_ he clarifies.

“We should do some close-ups,” Ellaria muses, seemingly ignoring Jon’s reply. “Could you hug each other? Perhaps some hair touching or whispering. Something _cute.”_

_Cute_ is the last thing on Jon’s mind. Still, as Ellaria walks back to Oberyn and the sound of his camera snapping echoes in the studio, he reaches out and brushes Daenerys’ cheek with his hand. He suppresses the need to grab her by the hair and pull her in for a heated kiss.

_You don’t want her,_ Jon reminds himself, even as she leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut, a smile on her lips. _It’s just nostalgia. It’s just because she’s hot._ But his groin itches all the same.

“Good!” Oberyn calls. “More like that!” - and Daenerys steps close to him, pushes her arms around his neck, brushes her fingers through his hair. His curls wrap around her nails. She tugs at them with a teasing look toward the camera.

“When this is done,” she whispers, her lips barely moving, the smile soft on her face, “I never, ever want to see you again.”

“You already said that.”

“Well, I mean it.”

“So do I,” Jon says, pulling her closer. As Oberyn barks words of encouragement, he dips his nose into her silver hair and breathes in. She still uses the same shampoo, he notes. Roses and lavender. He remembers the scent from when they used to fuck in the shower. “I don’t even want to hear your name.”

Daenerys leans into his arms, cocks her head up, presses a few kisses to his neck as Oberyn circles them to get every angle. “Good, I want you to forget it. I want to be _nobody_ to you.”

“Done!” Jon promises, holding her by the cheeks, dragging her face so near to his that their lips almost touch. He looks into her eyes. She looks into his.

She whispers: “Done,” and he can taste her breath; chewing gum, strawberries, a hint of dark chocolate.

Jon wants to have her - on the floor, against the wall, in his arms. But when he leans in, Oberyn shouts: “Excellent!” - and Daenerys slips free of his hold and turns her back on him. “Excellent,” Oberyn says again, smiling at them as he approaches, “that was really good. I think we can move on to the second part.”

“I’ll get changed,” Daenerys says. She doesn’t turn to look at Jon, she just marches off the set and through a door in the back.

Jon watches her walk with regret. “There’s a second part?” he mutters. He suddenly feels weak - as if he’s run a marathon and been asked to do another. His legs shiver. He puts on a grimace to distract himself from the buzz of emotions welling up inside of him. “What’s the second part?”

* * *

Half an hour later, Daenerys re-renters the studio, drops the robe from her body, and turns to face Oberyn as she says: “Let’s get this done,” - and all Jon can do is gawk.

There she stands, confident and curvy, in a lace bra, matching red string, and sheer stockings. The suspender belt sits snug on her waist. It looks so flimsy he imagines he could tear it with his teeth.

Oberyn stands up from his laptop. There is an excited glimpse to his eyes. “You’ve outdone yourself!” he calls at Ellaria as she enters through the same door as Daenerys. “Wonderful! This will photograph well.”

“Why haven’t you changed?” Daenerys asks as she looks at Jon.

Jon finds it hard to tear his eyes away from her behind to look her in the eyes. _You hate her,_ he reminds himself. _You hate her, you hate her, you hate her._ “I _have_ changed,” he says curtly.

“That’s the same suit.”

“The tie,” Jon says, tugging at it. “It was red before.”

“Right,” Daenerys says, and she turns away from him with a roll of her eyes.

Jon feels his cheeks heat. “I don’t get to choose the outfits,” he reminds her.

“Neither do I,” Daenerys says, “or you wouldn’t be seeing me like this.”

“Well, it suits you.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“No, really,” Jon says, not without regret in his voice as he continues: “You look good. Just like when we were-, well. Anyway, you look good. Or better. Definitely not worse.”

Daenerys looks at him. Her expression gives nothing away. “You were always bad with compliments,” she says before turning her back on him. But she’s not quick enough - Jon sees the faintest of smiles on her lips. It’s enough to make his heartbeat quicken.

“This shoot is all about _sensuality,”_ Oberyn explains as he approaches with the camera. Ellaria is moving around behind them, correcting the lights and checking the backdrop of dark seamless paper. There’s a different sense of intensity to the set. It makes Jon feel hot under the collar. “We’re not doing erotica or _porn._ So don’t be too animated.”

“Think romance with an edge,” Ellaria offers.

“Right,” Jon says, and he holds out his hand as he urges Daenerys closer. “Come here.”

“Is that how you talk to women?” Daenerys asks, though she takes his hand and steps over to him. Her back is facing him, her front visible to the camera. Even before Jon has got himself in position, Oberyn starts clicking away. _“Come. Go. Stay. Leave.”_

“I’ve never been like that,” Jon protests. He looks down Daenerys back - her narrow waist, her broad arse, her thick hips - and only slowly puts his hands onto her sides. He tries not to pull her too close, but she leans back against his chest, her arms stretching up to tug at his hair. She is posing. She is talking:

“Not out loud, but in your actions.” Her voice is resigned.

Jon can’t decide if it’s good or not. He lets her fingers pull at him as he leans in over her. He dips his nose through her hair, past her ear, allowing Oberyn to take some more photos as he whispers: “Stop playing a saint. I know about you and Drogo.”

“What do you think you know?” Daenerys asks.

“Another position!” Oberyn begs, and Jon wraps his arms around Daenerys’ waist as he speaks:

“I heard you on the phone.”

“Heard _what?”_

Jon takes in a sharp breath. He tries to look casual, perhaps sexy - smouldering a bit at the camera, dragging Daenerys around, making it look like they’re about to make love. But he can’t. He feels his face scrounge up in annoyance. It’s not the fact that they’re talking about it - it’s that she pretends to be _confused._ Even now, as she turns to face him, she peers at him with such innocence and curiosity. _I hate her,_ he reminds himself again. _I hate her, I hate her, I hate her._

“Look _engaged,”_ Oberyn says.

Jon scowls at her. “You thought I was asleep,” he says, “in the hotel. But I heard you, talking to him on the phone. _No, I’m not busy. I’ll come over now. It’s okay. It’s for the best.”_

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Daenerys whispers. Her face is no longer curious. It’s dark with pain - from the twitch at her eyes to the shiver in her lips.

_“Happy,”_ Oberyn urges.

Jon takes in a deep breath. He doesn’t want to dwell on it anymore - a year is a long time. He should have healed by now, he thinks. But the ache in his heart still feels fresh. It’s like it all happened yesterday. “Then you got in his car. I saw it from the window. I saw you drive off together.”

_“Sen-su-al,”_ Oberyn reminds them. His voice is getting desperate.

Daenerys lifts her hands and roughly pushes Jon in the chest. As he stumbles backwards in surprise, she shouts: “You are a fucking moron!”

Jon gives a loud laugh. It echoes in the small studio. “Oh, so _I_ am the moron! My girlfriend fucks her ex, and _I_ am the idiot.”

“I think we should take a break,” Oberyn says unnecessarily. “Ten minutes, everyone?”

“I didn’t fuck him!” Daenerys breathes. Her cheeks have gone bright red. “You’re the one who ran back to Ygritte the moment you thought I was gone!”

“I already told you,” Jon says, his own voice tired, _“she_ came to _me!”_

A door slams. They both glare to the side. The studio is empty; the lights are on, and the laptop is still running, and Oberyn’s camera has been placed on the table. But there’s just the two of them. Everyone else has left.

Jon looks back at Daenerys. He expects her to be furious, but instead she just looks sad. Small and pale and _sad._

She wraps her arms around herself. She shakes her head as she stares at him. “I didn’t fuck Drogo,” she says.

Jon feels like protesting - but something about the look in her eyes gives him pause. Instead, he snaps his lips tightly together and crosses his arms. He remains silent.

“It was Irri on the phone,” Daenerys says. “Do you remember her? Young, black hair?”

Jon can think of quite a few of Drogo’s lovers that match that description. Still he nods.

“She was leaving him, okay? She asked for my help. Hell, you know how hard it was for _me_ to leave - he’s manipulative as fuck.”

“So why wouldn’t you just say so?” Jon asks. He wants his own voice to be bathed in anger - but it just comes out meek. He kicks the floor in annoyance. “You just left. What was I to think? What _am_ I to think?”

“That I’m telling the truth?” Daenerys throws out her arms in exasperation. “It’s not my place to tell you what goes on with other people. She just needed a friend, okay? Not another guy messing up her business. She was already in trouble, having stolen his car.”

“Hold on - that was her in the car? She _nicked_ it?” Jon stares at Daenerys in disbelief. He’s not sure what to think; either, she’s selling him the stupidest lie he’s heard in a while. _Or,_ he thinks, the ache in his heart growing, _she’s telling the truth I’ve been on the run from for a year._

“So there I am, trying to patch up my friend’s life,” Daenerys says, and the sadness in her face twists into something else. Jon recognises it at once - fury. When she slowly walks up to him, her steps are hard and loud against the floor. “And what do I come back to? You throwing yourself back into Ygritte’s arms!”

_“She came to me!”_ Jon’s voice booms through the studio.

Daenerys doesn’t even flinch - she stops in front of him and stares into his eyes with an incredulous smile. “I don’t care who did what,” she says, “you shouldn’t have fucked her.”

“I didn’t!” Jon is practically tearing at his hair. He was angry the moment he saw Daenerys again, but listening to her accusations is only making him feel more crazy. “She came to me because Tormund made a move on her. She was _upset.”_

“Right, and you fucked her happy.”

“For God’s sake!” Jon kicks the floor again and walks in a circle, pulling so hard at his hair that he can taste blood in his mouth. When he turns back to face Daenerys, he thinks he must look mad - hair poking in every direction, face completely red, eyes wide with bewilderment. “Do you think you’re the only person capable of being good?” he asks.

Daenerys looks taken aback. “Of course not.”

“And you didn’t fuck Drogo?” he repeats. “You just helped Irri?”

“That’s what I just told you,” Daenerys sighs, looking annoyed at being questioned again.

“Well, isn’t it possible that I did the same thing?” Jon asks her.

This time, he can tell she’s the one pausing. Her brows furrow, and her nose scrounges up. She’s considering his words. “Why didn’t she come when I was there?”

“Because of _this!”_ Jon gestures between them. He can’t help but laugh - it’s a hollow, frustrated sound. “Because she knew what it was going to look like. And I was already upset, thinking you’d gone off with Drogo without telling me, so to be quite honest, it was nice to have someone to talk to.”

“Well, I didn’t do anything with Drogo.”

“And I didn’t do anything with Ygritte,” Jon assures her, stopping in front of her. He looks at her. She looks at him. There is silent confusion on both their faces.

“I don’t remember you explaining that,” Daenerys says slowly, “when I came back to the hotel.”

“Well, you didn’t explain yourself very well either,” Jon shoots back. He looks at her. She looks at him. The confusion slowly melts into understanding.

Daenerys sighs. She holds up her hands, and Jon expects her to push him away again. His muscles tighten in anticipation - but when she reaches out, she grabs a hold of his shirt and pulls him in. “You’re a fucking idiot,” she says.

Jon grabs her by the cheeks. He pushes her head back, looks down into her eyes, and says: “So are you.” Then, he kisses her.

Jon has imagined what kissing Daenerys again would feel like. Sweet, tender, gentle, loving.

\- But their lips move with heat, and their tongues push together with need. Before he can think to stop himself, his palms are on her buttocks, and Daenerys is dragging her legs up to wrap them at his waist. He lifts her. She pushes into him. The air between them grows warm and wet.

“Fucking,” Daenerys breathes, kisses, pulls at his hair, pinches his cheeks and tears at the buttons of his shirt, “stupid.”

“What a waste,” Jon licks and bite, marks her neck, feels her heartbeat on his lips, her body in his hands, “of a year.”

“Fuck me,” Daenerys says, her arms around his neck, her heels resting at his arse.

Jon doesn’t need to be told twice; with long, quick strides he pushes them between the row of lights, knocking some over in the process, until he can press her flat against the wall. As she gasps, the wallpaper rough against her skin, he pushes a hand down and tears her string aside.

She’s wet. He’s hard. He tugs himself free of his trousers and enters her with ease.

“Oh _fuck!”_ Daenerys rolls her head back. It makes dull noise as she bumps it to the wall. _“Oh fuck, Jon!”_

Jon can barely speak. He’s inside of her, he’s holding her, he’s fucking her again. Twelve months seemed a long time, and now it seems like no time at all - it’s like they’ve never been apart. Not when she moans his name with such longing. It makes him keen to please.

With one hand still holding her arse, Jon grabs at her waist with the other. He leans in, using his whole weight to hold her up as he starts taking her with quick, rough pushes. He can hear his balls slap to her skin. He can feel her breasts flatten to his chest. Her hands flail down his back, over his shoulders, onto his arms.

She lets go of a breathless laugh. “You _did_ gain muscle,” she says. Her eyes are closed. Her cheeks are pink.

Jon looks at her and merely manages a grunt. He’s deep inside of her. She’s tight around him. With every push, he feels himself sinking further into her heat, and she welcomes him, her body opening up to him as if that’s where he belongs. Her juices are dripping down her thighs, making her sticky, marking his trousers. Still he doesn’t stop - his fingers dig deep into her skin, until his knuckles grow white and she goes red, and still he hasn’t had enough.

Their lips crash together. Their tongues meet. He tastes her and she tastes him, and he smells her perfume and she smells his sweat, and he feels her breasts and she feels his chest. The wet sound of them fucking fills the studio. Jon hopes the walls are not thin.

“Oh _Jon!”_ Daenerys lets go of a loud gasp as Jon sinks into her _just right._ He feels it too - how his length strokes across her nub and fills her cunt, and she tightens around him, her fingernails digging deep into his shirt. “Again!” she pleads, and he pulls out and sinks into her again, filling her over and over until her legs are shaking and her lips are trembling and all she can mutter is his name as she comes.

Jon feels her orgasm in his cock. As her sex clamps in around him, tugging him deeper, it’s all he can take. He comes with a groan, forcing her to the wall with his whole body as he fills her with his cum. He can barely breathe - with every muscle in him tense, he presses his face into her hair and lets the scent of her overwhelm him. He lingers in it. He doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want it to end.

Daenerys whimpers in his hold. “You’re heavy,” she whispers, her fingers prying at his hand on her waist.

With regret, Jon slowly puts her down, allowing her to find her feet as he slips free of her. His cock is soft and wet from her orgasm. He carefully tugs himself away, brushing at the soaked spots on his trousers. “Fuck,” he says, “that’ll stain.”

“As if you care,” Daenerys says. Her voice almost sounds brisk, but when Jon looks at her, he finds she’s smiling. She shyly pulls her string back in place, barely covering up her pink, fucked cunt. “That was _bad.”_

“No,” Jon says, “that was very, very good.” He is still out of breath. He stands staring at her, partially in disbelief, partially in love.

Daenerys reaches up and drags a sweaty lock of hair out of his face. “Yes,” she admits, “it was good.” She smiles.

Jon smiles.

The door to the studio bangs open. “Right, lovelies,” Oberyn’s voice bellows. Smoke is still escaping his lips. A burnt down cigarette hangs between his fingertips. He discards it into the bin under the ‘No Smoking’ sign before grabbing his camera. “I want you on your best behaviour now. And remember - _sensual.”_

“Think we can manage that?” Daenerys asks, grabbing Jon’s arm as they walk back onto the set, side by side.

Jon looks down at her, his heart no longer aching but throbbing with glee. “I think so,” he says, winking.

As they take their positions, Oberyn’s camera snapping away as he shouts words of excitement, Jon thinks to himself: _Perhaps being honest and up-front was always the solution._ \- Until Ellaria leans in to stare at his trousers and asks:

“What is that?” as she points a perfectly manicured nail to his wet spot.

Jon looks at Daenerys. He looks down. He mutters: “Oh, I must’ve spilled some coffee.”

“Go change into the tight suit,” Ellaria instructs, sending Daenerys an exasperated look as she says: “Men!”

Jon just stalks to the changing room with a smirk on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I can neither confirm nor deny that the art from DragonandDirewolf today may contain references to other stories for this October. Anyone willing to offer a guess? I also have to say a big thank you to Lustonmyfingers who not only did the magazine cover set-up, but also suggested it. Thank you! That was such a good idea to do for the story!
> 
> I rarely write these two arguing, so it was a fun challenge to add some tension to their relationship. I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for all your comments and support - it's a joy writing for you all!


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